


Intimacy

by Chopin



Category: Sherlock BBC
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Blood - Warning
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3155336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chopin/pseuds/Chopin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for this <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/17487.html?thread=102564943">prompt</a> here.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/17487.html?thread=102564943) here.

Author: [](http://adellin-cabbie.livejournal.com/profile)[**adellin_cabbie**](http://adellin-cabbie.livejournal.com/)  
Fandom: Sherlock BBC  
Title: Intimacy  
Characters: John Watson, Vampire!Sherlock Holmes, Vampire!Mycroft Holmes  
Pairings: NA  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Blood  
Notes: Written for this [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/17487.html?thread=102564943) here.

_"Vampire!Mycrort walking in on Vampire!Sherlock feeding on John. He is horrified because to a vampire feeding from someone you care about is very intimate."_

 

Sherlock leaned forward, pressing John down onto the couch by the human’s shoulders. John went willingly, without struggle, letting Sherlock settle between his legs as the taller man leaned over him. 

Sherlock couldn’t help the self-satisfied grin as John automatically tilted his head up and to the left, anticipating Sherlock’s needs. After all, Sherlock usually only pushed John around so that the vampire could get to a vein.

Before John, Sherlock would’ve gotten blood from Molly’s morgue or stolen it from a passerby. John had walked in on such a moment, finding Sherlock drinking a cold blood pint from the fridge. Of course John had asked questions, but he’d eventually offered his own blood for Sherlock, if Sherlock wanted.

Sherlock had tried taking John up on his offer three days later, and John, admittedly, had struggled at first. Sherlock had hissed his displeasure at what he saw was back-tracking, but in that second of breath, John had calmed. John, Sherlock had noted, had taken deep breaths to cool his instinctual fear; and then, slowly, John’s arms come up around Sherlock to pull him down towards his neck so he could feed.

 Sherlock learned then that he had to make his intentions clear before actually trying to feed, and John needed to invite Sherlock to his neck lest John struggle like any other dull human. It helped curb the need to run from predators, namely vampires, and allowed a somewhat pleasant experience for all involved. 

What John didn’t know was that a vampire letting a human control the feeding was incredibly intimate and not normally practiced within the few vampire families that still remained over the centuries. Sherlock didn’t really see a need for John to know though, their relationship had always been unconventional anyway.

“Sherlock.” John swallowed, his breathing getting more rapid, “Are you-?” He sounded breathless, and Sherlock could feel the panic settling. John looked up to Sherlock with wide eyes, “Aren’t you going to-?” John never really could say it, but then Sherlock didn’t need him to.

Sherlock nodded, and bloodlust overtook him immediately. His eyes went entirely black, shadows crossed threateningly over his features as his open hissing mouth released his elongated fangs. John was practically hyperventilating beneath him, fighting the urge to run far away, as he slid his arms up over Sherlock’s bonier vampire shoulders and tugged him down a bit. 

“ _John~”_ Sherlock’s voice was a haze of echoes, never truly one voice when he was Shaded, but John recognized the voice none the less and obligingly turned his head as far to the side as it could go. John moved one of his arms to the back of Sherlock’s head and pulled Sherlock down to the nape of John’s exposed neck.

Sherlock breathed John in deeply, gasping with the scent of the thick hot blood in the mammal beneath him. He moved his left arm to under John’s neck, giving support, as the other hand tugged John’s button down shirt off and over the back end of the couch.

Then Sherlock opened his mouth wide, exhaling a moist breath on the human’s neck. John’s pulse shot through the roof, breathing growing faster and more irregular than before. He clutched at Sherlock’s back painfully hard expressing his fear best he knew how.

“Now.” John swallowed and spoke with a shaky voice, “Do it- do it now, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sunk his teeth into the pale flesh of John’s neck, and the human arched beneath him with a silent scream. Hot blood welled at the wound, and Sherlock swallowed the first mouthful of the dark lifeblood. Pleasure and satisfaction sparked through Sherlock with each pull at John’s neck and swallow.

John had tugged Sherlock to him tightly, plastering Sherlock’s front against his own. John was straining beneath him, every muscle extended in shock and pain.

Sherlock pulled another mouthful to the surface and barely heard the pained mutter of his name from John’s lips, pleading that he stop, that it was too much,  _please, Sherlock_ .

No matter what anyone ever said, feeding was always painful for the human involved; it could just be downed in pleasure if one were to engage in mating while a feeding took place. Technically, anyway. John hadn’t wanted to give it a try, said that numbing pain with sex was ridiculous. The worst thing about the entire experience was the undying instinctual fear anyway. Then he’d proceeded to tell Sherlock, despite whatever he thought John might be feeling or what John said, he was to take as much as needed until he was satisfied. 

So Sherlock ignored John’s whispered plea and drew another purchase of lifeblood to the surface of John’s skin. John arched again, gasping and clutching at Sherlock’s shoulders, one hand pulling Sherlock’s head closer towards John’s neck, telling Sherlock to drink more; to keep going.

Sherlock fed, drinking John’s precious lifeblood one agonizing mouthful at a time. Sherlock was drowning in ecstasy while John endured nothing but pain. 

Sherlock made sure to note when John began getting colder, when his grip began getting lax. He had taken about half a liter now, and John had just under another half or so to give before John would be the one needing the transfusion.

When the haze of blood loss finally began to numb the pain, John was finally able to relax in Sherlock’s hold. His arms dropped from Sherlock’s shoulders to the crook of his neck and over the edge of the couch. He giggled slightly and murmured something unintelligible as he nestled his head into the juncture of Sherlock’s own neck – breathing – obviously and childishly happy at Sherlock’s closeness and, what he saw as, physical affection.

Sherlock took another pint before having to extract his fangs from John’s neck. He licked at the wound, the puncture marks clean from John’s lack of struggle. They stopped bleeding quickly with help from Sherlock’s saliva. 

“Sh’lck.” John smiled into Sherlock’s collarbone and pulled him closer to the doctor, “You g’d no-h?” His words were slurred with exhaustion, but when Sherlock lowered his head to rest on his chest so he could look down at John, Sherlock saw only blind adoration in John’s wide blue eyes. Adoration, admiration, and love – something which always surprised Sherlock to see, for someone like John to love him, even after knowing what he did about Sherlock.

“Yes, John.” Sherlock spoke softly, tucking his doctor’s head under Sherlock’s chin as Sherlock settled over him, “Thank you. Go to sleep.” John nodded mutely and curled up under the detective, fisting his hands in the front of the detective’s shirt like a child as he drifted off. Sherlock brushed some of the doctor’s fringe from his dampened forehead before turning a sharp eye on the shadow lingering in the doorway.

“ _What do you want, Mycroft?”_ Sherlock hissed, Shaded again but for a different reason now.

“Just checking up on you, brother; and my, what did I find.” He shook his head minutely and approached his brother and the downed human beneath him. “You do realize the gravity of what you’ve done?”

_“I’m not an idiot, Mycroft!”_ Sherlock growled, “ _I know perfectly well what this is!”_

“Giving him control of the feed? Cuddling him afterwards? Allowing him his life?” Mycroft sat on the coffee table and leaned forward on his knees so he could look right at Sherlock on eye level, “Do you really, Sherlock?”

“I do.” Sherlock looking back down at his sleeping doctor with a certain fondness Mycroft had never seen elsewhere. Then Sherlock’s gaze was back on Mycroft, hard and cold, “ _Now get out, Mycroft, before I do something drastic.”_

Mycroft left silently. He’d gotten what he’d come for anyway.

 

 

 


End file.
